


until the red sun burns us down (consume me)

by Anonymous



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Poly, Barebacking, Bottom Kim Hongjoong, Dom Jung Wooyoung, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Minor Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Minor Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Minor Kim Hongjoong/Everyone, Minor Kim Hongjoong/Song Mingi, OT8, Polyamory, Rough Sex, Top Jung Wooyoung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wooyoung knows how to take Hongjoong out of his head.This is almost 3k words of Jung Wooyoung absolutely railing Kim Hongjoong, with a side of petty WooJoong.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Everyone/Everyone, Jung Wooyoung/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 3
Kudos: 103
Collections: Anonymous





	until the red sun burns us down (consume me)

Teeth at his neck, like a hungry animal, hot breath across his skin that sends goosebumps down his chest. 

_  
_

_ The next day, Wooyoung came up and bit me on the arm. _

  


Hongjoong gasps, aroused and angry about it, because it makes Wooyoung smirk against him. “Young-ah,” he hisses, and slaps a reprimand across Wooyoung’s (scratched) shoulders. Wooyoung pulls back to look at him, too brazen and too shameless to care in the face of the sour look Hongjoong sends him. He just adjusts the setting of his knees, pushes forward to sink his cock deeper into Hongjoong’s body. 

  


Nose scrunched, eyes crinkled, Wooyoung is too damn proud of himself for the way the drag of his cock makes Hongjoong shudder beneath him, nerves lit up like electricity. “Sorry, Hongjoong-hyung,” Wooyoung says without a drop of sincerity; his speech dangerously close to impolite. 

  


A noise rises up in the back of Hongjoong’s throat that he strangles. Wooyoung is close to brutal, fucking into Hongjoong with the kind of force that leaves tremors in Hongjoong’s thighs. A mouth takes his, greedy. Wooyoung is so greedy, craving attention. Eyes on him, hands and lips and teeth, and Hongjoong almost hates that he fell for that dangerous smile. But Wooyoung is so good at this. 

  


Hongjoong wanted it a little bit mean, he wanted it to hurt. Bruises on his hips, where only they could see. Wooyoung is playing dangerous, mouth at Hongjoong’s neck when their lips part with a smacking noise. He wants to bite, his teeth glancing along the shelf of Hongjoong’s collarbone, until Hongjoong has to pinch his side to make him back off again. 

  


It’s comeback season. Hongjoong doesn’t want to have to face the makeup noonas as they work to cover up a suspicious red mark blossomed on the side of his neck. 

  


Hongjoong hadn’t let Mingi touch him for a week after that. 

  


Wooyoung knows the rules.

  


He just doesn’t care. 

  


The bed rattles underneath them, a cheap frame not meant to withstand the efforts of a bunch of twenty year olds trying to fuck each other into sweaty, shameless oblivion. It holds up, just barely, under Wooyoung’s assault. 

  


“Hyung,” Wooyoung gasps against his ear, where his mouth has taken to working over the piercings. “You’re so tight.” He groans against the sensitive shell of Hongjoong’s ear, sending flustered heat roaring through Hongjoong. He tenses around Wooyoung, ripping a strangled noise out of him and Hongjoong can feel every inch of Wooyoung filling him up, hot and long and rough. 

  


He almost slaps Wooyoung in the face with how quickly he tries to muffle the broken, reedy sound that wants out of him when Wooyoung’s cock drags across his prostate.

  


Wooyoung bites a piercing, hard, pained pleasure a dizzying force that sweeps over him. Hongjoong keens again behind his fingers, and then Wooyoung’s hand is there and Hongjoong’s mouth is free, his hand captured in an unforgiving grip above his head. Hongjoong blinks blurry eyes up at Wooyoung, meeting the animalistic hunger that Wooyoung holds as he fucks Hongjoong. Teeth slightly bared, brow pinched, cock unforgiving as it pushes into Hongjoong. 

  


Muscles bulge in Wooyoung’s bicep. His shoulders are broad, chest heavy with muscle, and the grip on Hongjoong’s hand is resolute. Wooyoung is strong now, hours in the gym eating away the baby fat that clung to him. He’s still not at Jongho’s level - who spent the long months confined in his leg cast working off the excess energy he couldn’t use on dance practice. 

  


That hadn’t stopped him from lifting Hongjoong up and nearly tossing him onto the bed, mouth swollen from their hungry kissing and his eyes dark as they raked over Hongjoong, sprawled and easy on the mattress. 

  


Beneath Wooyoung’s grip, Hongjoong’s hand isn’t moving. Teeth in his bottom lip to try to stop himself from being too loud, until Wooyoung shifts and somehow he’s deeper. Hongjoong feels him in his stomach, heavy and long, the need a burning coil winding tighter and tighter. Toes curling, Hongjoong squeezes Wooyoung’s sides between his thighs. 

  


“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong mumbles again, almost pleading. He doesn’t want the others hearing him, to hear Wooyoung turning him into a mess. 

  


That’s a lie. 

  


He wants one of them to hear him; to burn with the knowledge that Hongjoong is locked in here with Wooyoung, spread open, brutalized, every heavy thought fucked out of his head until he’s floaty and hot. 

  


Tomorrow is going to be hell. An interview in the morning, sitting on a hard barstool as an MC asks them some inane questions that Hongjoong doesn’t really care about. And then dance practice in the afternoon. Hongjoong is going to feel the burn in his ass all day, the bruises on his hips in the shape of Wooyoung’s fingers.

  


How does San stand this, he wonders dizzy minded and meeting Wooyoung’s wet kiss. It’s amazing that he keeps pace with them during practice, with how often Wooyoung has his face in the pillow, letting the entire dorm know what’s going on in their bedroom. 

  


Wooyoung likes it when they can hear what he’s doing to San, or Yeosang, or any of them.

  


The pacing stutters and Wooyoung almost slips out, grabbing Hongjoong at the hips and dragging him upwards. A startled yelp and Wooyoung has Hongjoong’s lower half across his lap, cock balls deep inside him and punching out all the air in Hongjoong’s chest - and all the thoughts in his head. He arches, forgets to cover his mouth as he cries out because the angle has Wooyoung up against his prostate and Hongjoong is seeing stars behind his eyelids. 

  


Hongjoong’s well lubed hole makes a filthy, slick noise as Wooyoung slides out of him and back in again, damp skin slapping against damp skin, a staccato beat against the bed frame squeaking. Hongjoong is delirious enough to hear a song in it, almost laughs, until Wooyoung pulls his hair, kisses him again and he thinks WooyoungWooyoungWooyoung and harderharderharder. 

  


They didn’t even put on a condom. 

  


He’d pulled Wooyoung into the bedroom and kissed him so violently that by the time Wooyoung had lifted him and put him onto the bed, Hongjoong had been nearly shaking with need. Needy hands and hungry gazes, Wooyoung staring at him like a fox hunting a mouse, Hongjoong hadn’t cared. He just needed Wooyoung’s burning skin on his own and no more heavy thoughts in his mind. 

  


Fingernails drag his lower back, setting off heat. Hongjoong cries out, neck arched, and it’s a mistake because Wooyoung’s mouth is there again, his teeth around Hongjoong’s adam’s apple. “W-Wooyoung, stop,” Hongjoong babbles, voice bouncing, stuttering with the way Wooyoung works into him. One of Wooyoung’s hands splays across Hongjoong’s abdomen, hot and possessive. Hongjoong keens. 

  


“I like hearing Hongjoongie sing,” Wooyoung pants against Hongjoong’s vulnerable neck. 

  


Wooyoung is close. Rhythm faltering, uneven thrusts that dance Hongjoong at the edge of his own orgasm. He needs more, and reaches down, getting a hand around himself and getting one unsteady stroke in before Wooyoung has both hands in his own and he’s pinning them into the pillow over Hongjoong’s head. Static fills Hongjoong’s mind, white out interrupted by firework explosions of Wooyoung hitting his prostate and whispering filthy things in his ear. Hongjoong writhes beneath him, needing more, wanting to come but Wooyoung won’t give it to him. 

  


Hongjoong blinks, dampness in the corners of his eyes because it’s just too much. Wooyoung traps both of Hongjoong’s hands beneath one of his palms, fingers laced, and uses the other to turn Hongjoong’s face up by the chin, pinching it and kissing away the beginnings of a tear. “Pretty Hongjoongie,” he whispers. 

  


The informal speech sizzles down through Hongjoong’s already overtaxed body, lighting up his very veins. He would yell at Wooyoung, slap him if his hands weren’t trapped, but the only thing that leaves his kiss wet mouth is a reedy plea. “Please!” It’s dragged out of him - he needs to come. 

  


Wooyoung is deliciously cruel to him, squeezing their laced hands, cock heavy and filling him up to the very brim, so good it’s so good, Wooyoung-ah please. 

  


Fingers tangle in his hair and pull hard, sparks rippling down Hongjoong’s spine as Wooyoung goes briefly still, trembling. He fucks Hongjoong through his own orgasm, spilling inside Hongjoong who whines pathetically. Still so hard, head spacey, floaty. 

  


He feels good, he feels terrible, a limbo of hard cock and the satisfaction of being thoroughly used. 

  


Without warning he’s empty, Wooyoung taking his heat with him and leaving him cold. Hongjoong is lowered back onto the bed and he’s trying to shape his mouth into a demand, lips sloppy and swollen from kissing, when he feels three fingers slide into him and a mouth swallow half his cock. Wooyoung, loud, boisterous, annoying as hell Wooyoung, hums heavy and low and drags his fingers across Hongjoong’s prostate and sets off the hair trigger of his orgasm, ripping it out of him hard and painfully sweet. 

  


Wooyoung teases him with tongue and fingers to over-sensitivity, Hongjoong mewling softly and weakly pushing him away. Wooyoung sits back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, all traces of Hongjoong’s cum vanished. He grins, too pleased with himself and Hongjoong too worn out to scold him for it. 

  


Sweat soaked, Wooyoung leaking out of his used and pleasantly abused body, sheets sticking to his skin, and Hongjoong knows someone that’s going to be very upset about the filthy bed and the sex stench in every corner of their shared room. 

  


Good. 

  


There’s just enough sense left in Hongjoong to return the grinning kiss that’s pressed to his from a freckled mouth. “Hyung, are you okay?” Wooyoung doesn’t giggle - there’s enough of a teasing laugh woven into his voice. 

  


Orgasm drunk, Hongjoong dredges up enough to lazily swat at Wooyoung. His hips and lower back are aching, and Hongjoong is already dreading the long hours of their schedule tomorrow where he has to pretend he didn’t let Wooyoung rail him stupid. “Brat,” he mumbles, not without a healthy dose of affection. 

  


Hongjoong sinks into the mattress, heavy eyed and worn to the bone. His head is wonderfully empty, no half finished lyrics or ill timed music thudding through it. He cracks one eye open when he feels Wooyoung leave the bed, watching him bend over to grab a pair of sweatpants off the floor. 

  


The dried paint spatter say they belong to Hongjoong, and they may or may not be clean. He doesn’t remember, and doesn’t care enough to try, or to tell Wooyoung they aren’t his pants. 

  


“I’ll go get a washcloth,” Wooyoung says. Never let it be said that Wooyoung is inconsiderate. He bends over, kissing Hongjoong’s forehead with a loud and obnoxious lip smack. Another weak armed slap that Wooyoung avoids with a giggle.

  


Hongjoong hums his response, close to sleep. Both eyes slip shut again, and he listens to Wooyoung’s bare feet on the wood floor cross to the door, open it, and close it behind him with a soft click. 

  


There’s muffled voices just outside, too indistinct to understand. One of the voices sounds terse. 

  


Hongjoong smiles to himself, and drifts into a warm, happy doze. 

  


-

  


Contrary to popular belief, Wooyoung can be quiet when he wants to be. 

  


He’s soft as he shuts the door behind himself, Hongjoong probably already halfway to dreamland. He’s always sleepy after sex, the long hours at the studio finally catching up to him and putting him out for a few solid hours. It’s adorable, and Wooyoung loves being the one to put him in that loose limbed, relaxed state. They all do. 

  


Body buzzing, sweat drying on his skin, Wooyoung stretches his arms up over his head until he hears his spine crack. 

  


Across the hall, Mingi’s door is shut, the light on underneath it. It’s been that way often since Mingi finally came back to them after those four long months. Four months without his off tune singing filling the door, without his long legs taking up a third of the sectional in the living room and forcing them to sit on top of him. 

  


Four months of Yunho quietly moping, turning to San for comfort and eating into Wooyoung’s already limited time with him. 

  


Quietly, Wooyoung is glad Mingi is back for more reasons than because they’d felt the Mingi shaped hole in their group like an open wound. 

  


A shut door means Yunho is in there with Mingi, taking advantage of the private room and making up for lost time. 

  


Movement catches Wooyoung’s attention. 

  


He turns, a smile already spreading on his face. Seonghwa stares back at him, leaned up against the wall and coiled with tension. His eyes are blazing, face carved into a mask of contained fury. 

  


“Hyung,” Wooyoung says in greeting when Seonghwa doesn’t say anything. 

  


He doesn’t know what Seonghwa did to piss Hongjoong off enough that Hongjoong came to Wooyoung for his petty revenge, but Wooyoung can’t complain. It’s a terrible habit of his - to cause trouble, especially for his usually overly indulgent oldest hyung.

  


“What are you doing,” Seonghwa demands. His eyes drop down Wooyoung’s bare chest to the low slung sweatpants he wears. The dried paint across one heather gray leg shouts the owner’s name loud and clear. 

  


Seonghwa’s jaw twitches. 

  


Wooyoung smiles. “Going to get a washcloth. Hongjoong-hyung made a mess.” Or Wooyoung made a mess of him. 

  


The fire in Seonghwa’s eyes blazes. 

  


He moves around Wooyoung, opening the door to his room and closing it with more force than Wooyoung. 

  


The lock clicks. 

  


Wooyoung snickers to himself. One night, Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s constant will they won’t they had finally bubbled over and the door had been locked for hours, muffled sounds audible but indiscernible coming from inside. 

  


Since then, they’d been tumultuous. It’s not the first time Wooyoung has been dragged into Hongjoong’s room only to face an upset and glaring Seonghwa hovering in the hallway once he’d left. 

  


Wooyoung always leaves a pretty package behind for Seonghwa. 

  


The door won’t open again for a few hours, not for anything short of an emergency - or Eden’s call. 

  


There’s no bothering with the washcloth, so Wooyoung breezes past the bathroom and enters his own bedroom, finding it empty one Jongho and Yeosang, but discovering a blanket wrapped mound curled up on his bed. Bubblegum pink tufts stick out the top like a newly sprouted carrot. 

  


Wooyoung’s skin fizzles. 

  


He crosses over, murmuring, “San” as he bends down and tugs on a wrinkle of blanket, exposing the large eyed, pouty lip expression San is sporting at him. The innocence in his face forms a growl in Wooyoung’s chest that he swallows down. “What are you doing? Where’s Jongho-yah and Yeosang?”

  


San sits up and the blanket falls around him when he shrugs. “They went to get food,” he says. He’s using that voice. The soft, appealing voice when he wants someone to pet his hair and tell him he’s doing a good job. It’s an appeal. Wooyoung doesn’t take the bait - just yet. 

  


“And you didn’t go with Yeosang?” He’s being mean. San’s bottom lip juts forward, and Wooyoung wants to bite it. He wants to punish San for leaving him out, for spending time with Yeosang without Wooyoung with them. 

  


San is his, and so is Yeosang, and Wooyoung is a greedy and possessive boy who likes to have them both and doesn’t like to be left behind. 

  


Sometimes he thinks Yeosang does it on purpose, as revenge for the easy way Wooyoung folded San into his life. That’s fine. Wooyoung will just remind him when he returns that he belongs to Wooyoung just as much as San does. 

  


Yeosang likes making Wooyoung feisty. 

  


But San is sad eyed and pulling at Wooyoung’s borrowed sweatpants, hurt in his face, and Wooyoung forgets that San is sensitive. He’s good, and he’s sweet, and he can’t always take Wooyoung’s serrated edges the way Yeosang can. “Wooyoungie,” he whines. 

  


Wooyoung folds, just like that. He can never stay mad at San for long, and if San ever figures that out and learns to weaponize it, it’ll be a problem. 

  


It doesn’t matter that he just came inside Hongjoong less than fifteen minutes ago. San’s doe eyed pout and the plea in his voice has Wooyoung’s blood pumping south, cock twitching. 

  


Wooyoung slips a hand into San’s hair, fingers carding through dense, pink strands, and gives it a small tug. Like a puppy, San crawls towards him, eager for attention. Wooyoung knows he must still smell like Hongjoong, like the breezy fresh scent of Hongjoong’s body wash and the stupid silly strawberry lube. Sweat and sex, clinging to his skin, and San has to smell it. Wooyoung can still taste Hongjoong’s cock on his tongue. 

  


“Clean Hongjoong-hyung off me,” Wooyoung orders. He guides San’s face to the front of Hongjoong’s sweatpants, where is cock is already filling and bulging the fabric. A shiver ripples through San, that pouty mouth falling open. Wooyoung captures his chin, pressing his thumb to San’s bottom lip, past his teeth, pushing down on his tongue. He feels San whine.

  


Wooyoung forgets to lock the door. 

  


San’s desperate noises ward off Yeosang and Jongho when they return.


End file.
